


Perfectly Fractured

by ToAStranger



Series: Giving Myself to You (Prompt Fills) [14]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-19 23:35:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3628431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToAStranger/pseuds/ToAStranger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter feels that perhaps he is not what is best for Stiles. </p>
<p>- - - </p>
<p>Anon Prompt Fill</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perfectly Fractured

**Author's Note:**

> Dome mentioned based off of the Wholeo Dome

“Stiles, where in the world are you taking me?” Peter asks on a sigh, following along after him, one hand occupied with Stiles’ and the other holding onto the blanket Stiles had shoved into his arms when they pulled aside on the dirt road—deeper in the preserve than Peter thinks he’s been since he was a boy.

Stiles grins back at him, cheeky as he squeezes Peter’s hand. “You’ll see.”

Peter, as he always finds himself doing these days, follows. They don’t stop until they’re much further, much deeper.  As they trek past tree after tree, Peter’s mind wanders.

His eyes stay focused on Stiles.  On the line of his shoulders, the relaxed way he guides Peter further. His feet shuffle, not quite lifting, through the brush—leafs parting as Stiles pads through.  Peter smiles to himself, finds his grip tightening in Stiles’ hand, and feels a weight in his chest.  

“Stiles,” he says.  “I think we should talk.”

“Not yet,” Stiles insists.

Peter can hear water flowing somewhere.  Stiles twists their direction toward it when they pass a maple with a large X scarred into it.  The mark looked old, like the tree had grown around it since it was made.  Stiles picks up the pace a bit.

Peter clears his throat.  “Stiles, I really think you should hear what I have to say.”

“I know what you’re going to say,” Stiles chirps.  “That’s why we’re out here.”

Peter frowns.  “What do you mean?”

“Like I said,” Stiles glances back at him for a moment, still smiling, still so bright.  Peter feels kind of like he’s dirtying something pure.  “You’ll have to wait.”

Peter’s lips just thin.

They keep going for another number of minutes.  Stiles stops them before a line of trees, holds up a hand, tells Peter to stay there.  He snatches up the blanket and takes it along with his own armful of pillows past the tree and further.  The water is much closer now, the slow babble of it a kind of balm on Peter’s nerves.

His shoulders sag.  He takes one breath, then two.  There is something in him that tastes like chamomile—sort of sad, sort of longing. Sweet and tired.  He wonders if Stiles has finally come to his senses.

“Okay,” Stiles calls to him.  “Come on!”

Sighing, Peter shuffles forward, heading over the peak and coming to a stop as he spots the small dome Stiles is beaming in front of. Rocking up onto his toes, Stiles tucks his hands into his own back pockets, gesturing over his shoulder to the collage of stained glass.  

From up above, sunlight filters through, striking the glass just so.  Muted colors seem to glow, like something has lit the dome from within.  Peter walks forward slow, doesn’t see their things, and frowns.

“Stiles?”

Stiles shifts, moves back a bit, and pulls open a panel on the dome and swing it wide so that Peter can peer inside.  The blankets have been sprawled out over the ground within, a menagerie of color and comfort.  Peter bites the inside of his cheeks and wants to smile.

“What is this?” he asks.

Stiles shrugs.  “I wanted to do something special.”

“Special?”

Stiles nods, stepping towards him and taking Peter’s hand.  “You’ve seemed distant, so I thought maybe you didn’t want me anymore.”

Peter opens his mouth to speak, but Stiles steam rolls on, tugging him back towards the dome.

“But then I thought that was stupid because I’m fucking adorable,” Stiles adds with a cheeky little grin.  “And I know how much you want me.  And I know  _you_  know how much I want you. So I figured I’d make a silly romantic gesture, we’d talk about what’s up, and then screw each other’s brains out until we feel manly again.”

“How did you find this?” Peter asks, touching the glass as they stop before the small entrance.  

Stiles leans back against it, humming, tugging Peter close. “My mom was fond of exploring.  It’s an art installation we came across when I was, like, twelve.  It’s always been a favorite place of mine.”

Peter tilts his head.  “This is your romantic gesture?”

“Well, I would’ve brought wine, but I’m not twenty one until next month.” Stiles mutters.

“Then I’m guessing you want to talk,” Peter says.

“Unless you’d rather have sex, then talk, then have more sex.” Stiles grins.

Peter chuckles, kissing the corner of his mouth.  “I think you might be too good for me.”

“That’s dumb,” Stiles replies.  “True, but dumb.  I like  _you_ , even if you aren’t good for me.”

Nodding slow, Peter curves a hand along Stiles’ jaw.  “The moment that changes, you’ll have to let me know.”

“As if I’d ever bite my own tongue.”

“No,” Peter grins, crooked and roguish.  “That’s what you have me for.”

They kiss.  It is a lingering one, long and slow.  Lazy. When it breaks, Stiles urges Peter into the dome with him.

They touch each other for hours, colored by red and blues and purples as the light shines through stained glass upon them.  Peter finds himself far too occupied with trying to catch the taste of those colors as they paint themselves over Stiles’ skin to worry about being bad for him.  


End file.
